I remember how he sounded
while laughing loudly, lips curled, cat-like,
at a joke inside of him that no one knew
how to hear
and he smelled free
and he looked like spring wind
and he felt like a powerful gladness
that surged into all his surroundings

I remember how he sounded
heart beating tired rhythms, breathing in,
breathing out in a calm that no one knew
how to hear
and he smelled safe
and he looked like the night sky
and he felt like the soft thump
echoing through his chest into my almost sleeping ears

I remember how he sounded
eyes burning with salt but invisibly,
like a dark dawn's cries for sunlight that no one knew
how to hear
and he smelled like the paint from his smile
and he looked like a blind man speaking of color
and he felt like someone I still knew well
but I wasn't quite sure who

she colored space-time
into her hair
using only a paintbrush and patience
strand by strand she formed it:
the glistening planets and stars that are
of her own mind
neurons shooting like rockets
envisioning the galaxies that, built from her hands,
exploded from nothing into everything,
tangible but free, whispering red gold light

she wrote out the oceans
using her hands
lakes rivers and streams, and the lands along the edges
word by word she poured it:
the life of each puddle turned into clay creatures
that breathed reality
existing like trees on the vast new savannas
living freedom that, carved from her fingertips,
developed happiness and sorrow,
careful but real, eating their new knowledge

she gave birth to gods
from her parted lips
speaking out deities and auras
making the small assertion:
that life came from her and all things by her
but the life she loves had long since forgotten
the green of her eyes
and the red rock of her skin,
her writings and whispers
floating throughout the summer smog
so she roared in the thunder and the rushing waves
for her children and worlds to listen
but they could no longer hear, and she was left
lost and awaiting, wrapped
in her own space-time hair

I am a landscape of hills and valleys
and some jagged edges where
the world stops.
I have clean springs and caverns
on my face and
small peninsulas that sense
and feel on my hands.
I have changed this landscape
and ploughed it to find
the red soil that lies underneath
the pale surface.
And the people have told me
it is destroyed.
But from there inside the pain
grows a garden
and a planet continues
living.

Disney taught me that
Even little kittens
Sitting on the bench of their sleek baby grand
Can understand the definition
Of practice makes
Perfect
With their tails clicking in Perfect unison
Perfect Four/Four time
Time of which there is not enough
To just stand and mutter a free meter
Without uttering Failure

Expression of the heart does not so easily
Occur through Vaccai
But to express power of mind would prove
Simple as memorizing scales and opening the mouth
Because you’re a vocal thunderstorm
Wreaking havoc, a Hurricane
Of a Butterfly,
A musical anomaly
With path destined for success
If you would just stay with the rhythm
One beat longer

But inside of you there is
Sunlight
Repressed by storm clouds